


blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin

by Anna_Blossom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Canon, Tragedy, Unrequited Love, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Blossom/pseuds/Anna_Blossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remains silent as Jack’s words repeat themselves in his head, and he wants to laugh. Or cry. Whichever.</p><p>  <em>You’re a good friend.</em></p><p>In the end, that’s all he’ll ever be to Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin

**Author's Note:**

> Rating because of mild language.
> 
> UPDATE: There is now a Chinese translation of this fic. Thank you so much to Haveitbroken for translating it! Here's the link to the translation: [http://idontlivelong.lofter.com/post/1d6fe2f6_be85033]. Again, thank you Haveitbroken :)

Back when McCree was just a lanky kid with a gap between his teeth, there was this boy who lived next door named Jim. Blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. It was the first time he’d felt attracted to a boy. Call it cliché, but he felt his heart beat like a jackrabbit whenever Jim got close and butterflies flew in his stomach whenever they spoke. The only problem was that Jim was as straight as an arrow. ‘Sorry, Jesse. You’re a great guy, but you’re not exactly my… type.’ McCree smiled in understanding, even if it was the first time he experienced rejection. _Love sucks_ , McCree realized as he watched Jim dance with his new girlfriend during their high school prom.

A few years later, McCree became part of the notorious Deadlock Gang. There, he met a guy named James. Blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. James was all easy grins and friendly touches, both of which made McCree feel like he was a boy again, heart racing and stomach twisting. James approached him one night, saying he noticed McCree looking, and asked if he wanted to give it a go. McCree jumped at the chance, not fighting as James pushed him against a wall and claimed his mouth. Only after a few weeks did McCree find out that he was nothing but a bed warmer to James, who laughed at McCree, saying, ‘You didn’t really think I wanted a _romantic_ relationship with you, did you? We’re just friends with benefits.’ McCree laughed along, even if it was the first time he experienced heartache. _Love sucks_ , McCree thought as he watched James get shot in the head by the gang leader for insubordination a week afterwards.

Two years later, McCree gets picked up by Overwatch. A man named Gabriel Reyes comes to his cell, offering him a deal. He accepts. The next day, Reyes drives him to a tall white building. Overwatch HQ. There, he meets a man named Jack Morrison. Blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. McCree wants to laugh as he falls in love with yet another prince charming, already knowing how this was going to end.

\--

“Jesse!”

McCree slowly turns around at the sound of his name being called. He watches as Jack Morrison, Strike-Commander, ‘golden boy’ as Reyes liked to call him, makes his way towards McCree, smiling brightly.

“Commander,” McCree drawls, grinning lazily.

Jack laughs in response, and the sound makes the gunslinger’s heart beat just a little bit faster. “We’re not at a mission, Jesse. Call me Jack,” he says with a smile.

“Alright, _Jack_ ,” McCree leans against the wall, crossing his arms casually. “So why were you callin’ out for me just now?”

“Oh, yeah. I was wondering if you saw where Gabe went. I checked his office but he’s not there.” McCree’s grin falls slightly at the mention of Gabriel Reyes, at the way Jack’s bright blue eyes seemed to light up, but he recovers just as quickly. Everyone in Overwatch knew that he and Jack were close, the more poetic members calling him the ‘yin’ to Jack’s ‘yang’. But how close they were exactly, no one was quite sure.

“Sorry, pardner. No clue where he went,” McCree answers. He may have left out the fact that he saw Reyes leave the base an hour ago, but he technically wasn’t lying.

“Oh,” Jack frowns slightly, before chewing on his lower lip. McCree’s eyes couldn’t help but stare at the motion. “I guess he forgot that we had plans for lunch today.”

McCree shrugs nonchalantly. “Wanna eat with me instead? Was on my way to the mess hall, anyway,” he tilts his head down the hallway, watching as Jack blinks at his offer.

Jack hums contemplatively for a small moment, before gracing him with a small smile and a nod. “Yeah,” Jack’s blue eyes meet his, and McCree feels warmth bloom in his chest. “Not like I have any plans, anyway,” he says in a joking manner, but McCree couldn’t stop the slight twinge of guilt.

He covers it up with a chuckle. “Yeah, well, his loss,” he tosses Jack a wink as they start walking. “Not everyday you get to have lunch with such a gorgeous fella.”

Jack laughs in response, his cheeks pinking just the slightest bit. “Oh, I agree,” he flirts back, lips twitching into a smirk and eyes glinting with humor and McCree knew Jack was only being friendly but _damn_ , did his heart race.

However, when an annoyed Reyes comes up to their table twenty minutes later, Jack beams and tells him to sit down with them, immediately striking up a conversation which only sometimes included McCree as an afterthought. McCree watches silently as Jack devotes all his attention to the other man, and jealousy grips his insides like a vise.

\--

McCree’s eyes wander around the gay bar he was in, casually looking for his target. Honeypot mission they called it. One of their informants said that the son of a high-profile drug dealer frequented this bar, and that every night, he went home with his arm around a man, usually a brunette. His mission tonight is to be that man, to get whatever information he can out of the son and, if possible, plant a few bugs within his house.

“ _Target’s approaching the bar,_ ” Reyes’s voice comes in through his comm, and McCree catches sight of the target’s bleached blonde hair drawing near.

“Gotcha,” McCree murmurs as he raises his shot glass towards his mouth. There’s movement to his right, and he briefly glances towards it. The target, Rex Stanford, sits on the stool beside him, motioning for the bartender.

“Scotch, neat,” he orders, and there’s a British accent to his voice. The bartender nods, before hurriedly serving him his drink. Rex turns so that his body faced McCree’s. “So, come here often?”

McCree wants to laugh, ask if he was seriously going to use _that_ line, but he settles for a smirk instead. He hums, giving the other man a onceover. Blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. His smirk grows. He could do this.

“First time,” he drawls out, keeping his body language interested. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rex smile brightly. Not as bright as Jack’s.

“Really? Here on vacation?” Rex inquires, not so subtly checking McCree out. McCree wasn’t worried. He knows he looked good. Karim, resident sniper and self-proclaimed fashionista of Blackwatch, made sure of it. He was decked out in tight black jeans and a dark red dress shirt, leaving the top two buttons open and the sleeves rolled up. His hat was gone, face clean shaven, and hair tied up in a small ponytail.

“Something like that,” he answers, taking another sip from his glass. “Gotta say though, this city’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be.”

“If you’d like, I could arrange to give you a private tour,” Rex leans closer and smiles at him, all teeth. McCree does not miss the hidden meaning behind his words. “Show you all the sights, all this city has to offer. It would not be difficult, especially for me. That is, if you’d let me, of course.”

McCree arches an eyebrow at him, his gaze half-lidded. “You talk as if you own this city, pretty boy,” he purrs out, leaning closer as well, and he sees hunger flash through Rex’s blue eyes. McCree briefly wonders how Jack’s would look with that same expression. Would it be similar? _Nah_ , he thinks. Jack’s would be much more intense, he decides.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Rex boasts, before huffing out a quiet laugh. “Or rather, my father does. But soon, it’s all going to be mine,” he gives McCree a smug smile, and McCree perks up at the mention of his father.

“Really, now?” he drawls with feigned interest as Rex signals for another round of drinks. “Your dad sounds like a powerful man.”

Rex snickers. “You have no idea,” he says as the bartender places a glass in front of him, and another in front of McCree. McCree accepts it with a nod, taking a sip to hide the smirk on his lips. “But enough about that old geezer. You haven’t told me what you thought about my… _offer_ yet.”

“You haven’t convinced me enough, pretty boy.”

Rex smirks, leaning in close enough to whisper at McCree’s ear. “My father has a yacht by the docks. He plans to use it for a meeting tomorrow morning but,” a hand lands on his knee and travels upward his thigh, and McCree barely stops himself from curling his nose in revulsion, “I think he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it for the night.”

McCree finishes his drink, licking his lips afterwards and almost laughing when he sees how the target’s eyes are drawn to the motion. He gives his target another onceover. Blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. He could deal with this. All he has to do is pretend. “Well,” he rumbles, keeping his voice low and inviting, “I can’t say no to that now, can I?”

\--

“Good work out there, brat,” Reyes commends him gruffly as McCree enters the control room five hours later, still dressed in the same clothes he wore at the bar, plus a couple of hickeys on the side of his neck and just above his collarbones. He scratches them, annoyed. Just one of the nuisances of having to do honeypot missions for Blackwatch.

He throws him a smirk. “Careful, Commander. People might start thinkin’ you ain’t the hard ass you make yourself out to be.”

Reyes ignores that statement. “Find out anything?” he asks instead.

“There’s goin’ to be a big meetin’ on the yacht tomorrow mornin’. Business partners of his dad, he says. Went ahead and put some bugs all around. Put a trackin’ device and an audio bug in Junior’s car too. He was constantly talkin’ ‘bout finally takin’ over for his dad or somethin’, so I put it there just in case.”

Reyes nods, before dismissing him. “Good. Rest up for tonight. We’ll hold a proper debriefing tomorrow morning.”

McCree nods back, exiting the room. He wonders if he has enough time for a shower. As he walks down the hall, he spots Jack holding a little girl’s hand. McCree furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He was pretty sure Jack wasn’t married or had any children. Besides, the girl looked nothing like Jack, didn’t have his blond hair or fair skin. She did look a bit familiar though.

Before he could think about it some more, Jack sees him, and smiles. “Hey, Jesse.”

“Commander,” he greets, and chuckles when Jack sighs fondly afterwards.

“I told you that Jack’s fine.” He stops and blushes slightly, giving McCree an odd look. The gunslinger wonders if there’s something on his face. Or maybe it was his outfit. McCree’s pretty sure Jack hasn’t seen him in anything other than his cowboy getup or his Blackwatch uniform. Maybe Jack thought his outfit looked funny. He eyes the blush on the blond’s cheeks. Or maybe…

“Did it hurt?” the little girl blurts out suddenly, breaking his train of thought.

McCree blinks at her. “Pardon?”

“You have bites all over your neck,” she points out with her finger, and McCree’s hand automatically comes up to cover his hickeys. Oh. No wonder Jack was blushing. McCree laughs nervously, buttoning up the top of his shirt, hoping she didn’t see the bruises there.

“Fareeha,” Jack chides gently. “It’s rude to point.”

“But look at his neck!” The girl, Fareeha looks up at McCree before repeating her question. “So did it hurt?”

“Nah,” McCree answers, because they really didn’t.

“What bit you? Were you in a fight?”

“Fareeha,” Jack says exasperatedly, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, Jack,” McCree assures him, giving him a lazy grin, before turning back to Fareeha. “And I was in a fight alright,” he lies as he taps the side of his neck, figuring that it would be better than telling her the real reason.  “But you should see the other guy,” he says, chuckling when Fareeha’s eyes widen.

She looks up at Jack curiously, asking, “Is he a hero too, Uncle Jack?”

“Ah— yeah,” Jack nods. “He works with your Uncle Gabe. This is Jesse McCree. Jesse, Fareeha Amari.” Ah, McCree thinks. No wonder she looked familiar.

“Hi!” She greets, holding out her hand, the other still gripping Jack’s.

“Pleasure meetin’ you, lil’ lady,” he says, taking her hand. Instead of shaking it though, he pressed a light kiss to the back of it, making her giggle. “I must say, the pictures your ma carry ‘round don’t do you justice.”

She blinks in confusion, before Jack leans closer to her and whispers, “He’s telling you that you look prettier than your pictures.” Fareeha blinks again, before beaming at McCree, who tips an imaginary hat in return.

“So,” he says, straightening up, “what brings you here?”

“We’re here to see Uncle Gabe!” Fareeha chirps.

Jack nods in confirmation. “I know it’s kinda late, but I promised to take her to see him.”

“Oh,” McCree says, deflating a bit but he makes sure not to show it. “Well, don’t let me get in yer way.” He motions his head towards the hall behind him. “He’s in the control room.”

“Want to come with us?” Jack invites. “I’m sure Gabe wouldn’t mind the extra company.”

McCree just shakes his head. “I’m gonna go turn in for the night. Just got back from a mission and I’m feelin’ a bit tuckered out.”

Jack nods in understanding. “Alright. Well, good night then. Rest well.” McCree gives him a small smile, before he starts walking towards his room.

“Good night!” Fareeha waves at him, and he turns around to give her one last grin.

“Oh, and Jesse!” Jack calls out, and McCree looks at him curiously. The blond smiles at him, “You look good.”

McCree’s face flushes, and he doesn’t even get the chance to reply as Fareeha impatiently pulls at Jack’s arm, telling him to hurry up.

\--

The sound of fists hitting leather echoes throughout the empty gym. McCree pants as he deals blow after blow to the punching bag in front of him. Sure, Overwatch had a lot of fancy tech incorporated in the gym, like battle simulations or training drones, but sometimes, old school was the best way to go about getting rid of your frustrations.

He stops after a short while, holding the punching bag steady with his bandaged hands, before leaning his forehead against it. Sweat drips down the back of his neck and down the sides of his face, and the leather feels cool against his heated skin. He stays like that for a few moments, simply resting until he hears a chuckle coming from his left.

“I know it looks like one, but that’s not a pillow.”

McCree looks up, stepping away from the punching bag. The sight of Jack in a suit makes him grin lopsidedly and he approaches the edge of the ring, leaning against the ropes.

“Commander.”

Jack’s lips twitch into a smile. “Jesse,” he says, and there’s a brief pause before he adds, “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jack?” The gunslinger simply shrugs, and Jack sighs, but there is warmth behind it. It’s a nice sound, McCree thinks to himself.

“So,” he starts, a hand motioning towards Jack’s clothes, “I’m not one for fashion, but I’m pretty sure suits aren’t meant to be worn in a place like this.” Jack arches an eyebrow, looking down at his suit before giving McCree’s outfit a onceover. McCree shifts a little under his gaze, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious in his knee-length shorts and loose white tank top.

“Maybe I just want to look good working out,” he says with a smirk, and McCree feels his heart stutter.

“Darlin’, you don’t need a suit for that,” McCree throws him a wink. “You’d look good in anythin’.”

Laughter spills out of Jack’s lips, and McCree knows he’ll never get tired of that beautiful sound. “No wonder you got a reputation for being such a sweet talker.”

“Me? A sweet talker?” McCree puts a hand against his chest, his grin growing. “Darlin’, I’m just tellin’ the truth.”

Jack hums at that. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your training.”

“You ain’t interuptin’ none,” McCree says, walking back towards the punching bag, falling into a stance, the sound of fists hitting the bag filling the air once more. “I reckon you didn’t come here just to chat.”

“I came here to ask you about something, actually.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s about Gabe.”

McCree makes a particularly hard jab at that, his eyes narrowing just the smallest bit. Of course it’s about Gabe. It’s _always_ about Gabe. “Go on,” he drawls, hoping the other man didn’t notice the slight increase of aggression in his punches.

“I was wondering if you noticed him acting a bit… odd lately.”

“Odd how?”

“Well,” from the corner of McCree’s eye, he sees Jack shift uncomfortably, “it feels like he’s been distant lately. And he could usually control his temper, but last night,” his lips purse and he falls silent.

McCree stops as well, turning to face Jack. His eyes are downcast, blue eyes filled with worry and McCree can’t help but think that he _still_ looks beautiful. He scolds himself because now wasn’t really the time for his stupid unrequited love to rear its head because Jack was obviously in distress. Seeing how distressed he was though, McCree briefly wonders how close Reyes and Jack must be, if the blond was this affected. A sliver of envy snakes its way into McCree’s thoughts, but he quickly ignores it.

“Have you tried talkin’ with him?” he asks, but Jack simply sighs.

“Believe me, I’ve tried.” Jack runs a hand through his short hair in aggravation. “But he just runs away with some stupid excuse. He has a meeting, he has to do a debriefing, has to meet the new recruits, training, but he always promises to talk about it _later_ and—” a frustrated noise escapes his throat, his face twists, conflicted between concern and aggravation. “Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know who he _is_ anymore!”

Silence follows his statement and stays for a long moment, before Jack breaks it with another sigh.

“Sorry for ranting like that,” he says afterwards, forcing a half-smile. “At least now I got it off my chest.”

“Hey,” McCree gives him a grin, “that’s what I’m here for. I’m more than happy to lend you an ear.”

“Yeah,” Jack smiles back, a bit tired. “Thanks.” A ringing noise gets both of their attention, and Jack takes out his phone, groaning softly. “It’s the UN. Again. They need me in the conference room.” He gives McCree one last look. “Thanks again for, you know, listening.”

McCree waves him off. “Ain’t nothing, pardner.” He watches as Jack starts to walk away, biting his lip before calling for him one more time. “Hey, Jack.”

The blond, already by the doorway, looks over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Reyes might be my commanding officer, but I’ve got your back, no matter what,” McCree says, meeting his gaze, his face breaking into a grin. “Just thought you might wanna know.”

Jack blinks twice, before the corners of his lips slowly turn up. “I know,” his blue eyes look at McCree gratefully. “Thank you, Jesse. You’re a good friend” And with that, he leaves McCree alone in the gym.

He remains silent as Jack’s words repeat themselves in his head, and he wants to laugh. Or cry. Whichever.

_You’re a good friend._

In the end, that’s all he’ll ever be to Jack.

\--

Ever since Jack brought it up, McCree begins to notice the small changes in Reyes’s demeanor. He starts to shout, snap, and growl more, but not enough for people who weren’t close to him to notice. Training was harsher than it should have been, and during his free time, Reyes was off base more often than not. McCree has to admit that it is a bit worrying.

He wasn’t the only one who changed. Jack smiles less these days. He still keeps up his public image, always smiling at the camera, but McCree likes to think that he knows Jack well enough to differentiate his genuine smile from the one he reserves for the public. He also looks more haggard, drained, enough for Angela to start pestering him about it.

The biggest change, however, is the way they start avoiding each other. It’s subtle, but McCree doesn’t miss how Jack always seems to have to talk to someone else whenever Reyes was in the room, or how Reyes always seems to leave minutes before Jack arrives. There’s a strain in their relationship, and even though McCree honestly feels bad about the whole situation, a small part of him cheers at the thought of having a chance with Jack, and he can’t help but hate himself for it.

\--

There’s shouting. Not the kind you hear in sports events or parties. It’s angry, personal.

McCree slows as he approaches the door to Reyes’s office, hesitating. He’s supposed to report back from his latest mission, but he gets the feeling that if he goes in now, he’ll be dragged into something ugly. Now that he’s just outside the room, the muffled shouting sounded clearer, and he starts being able to make out what’s being said.

“—an’t do this, Gabe! It’s not right!”

“Oh, grow the fuck up, Jack! You wanted me to lead Blackwatch? To do the dirty work so that you keep your image as the golden boy of Overwatch? Well, that’s what I’m doing.”

“Through _torture_?! Damn it, Gabe, I thought—”

“You thought _what_ , Jack? That cleaning up after Overwatch’s shit was easy? That it was all sunshine and fucking rainbows?! That—”

“That you were better than this, Reyes!”

There’s a few beats of silence, then McCree hears Reyes laugh, the sound low and cutting.

“Sorry to disappoint then, Strike-Commander Morrison.” There’s the sound of a chair being pushed back, its legs dragging across the floor. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot work to do.”

“Gabe, I didn’t mean—”

“ _Leave._ ”

Silence, then Jack’s voice comes through, softer now. “Alright. I’ll see you around then.”

McCree barely has enough time to take a step back down the hallway to make sure it doesn’t seem like he was eavesdropping before Jack opens the door and exits the room, jaw tight and back straight. When he sees McCree though, he tries to relax his posture a bit. His brow still furrows though, and he looks uneasy.

“Jesse! Did you…”

“Didn’t hear nothin’, pardner,” McCree assures him, and the other man relaxes slightly. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” Jack shakes his head, giving the gunslinger a forced smile. “It’s nothing.”

McCree frowns, concern on his face. “You wanna talk ‘bout it anyway?”

At first, it looks like Jack was going to say no, but after a moment, he pauses, then nods. “Yeah. Just,” he glances back a Reyes’s office door, “not right now.”

McCree nods slowly, before opening his mouth. “I know this bar in town. Usually just a few people there durin’ the night. We could talk over drinks there. Tonight. If you wanna,” he offers, voice soft so that Reyes doesn’t hear.

“Yeah, alright,” Jack agrees, and when his blue eyes meet brown, McCree sees just how tired he is. “I’ll meet you by the lobby around nine?”

“Sure.”

Jack nods again, a small grateful smile on his lips. “Thank you, Jesse. You’re a good friend,” he says, unknowingly echoing his words from before, and McCree has to force a grin.

A good friend. Right. How could he forget?

\--

McCree sometimes wonders how much alcohol it would take to get a super soldier drunk.

The answer: a lot. Like, a _lot_. Enough to guarantee anyone else a trip to the hospital because of alcohol poisoning.

He watches in mild fascination as Jack downs another two shots of vodka like it was nothing, face flushed. Lucky for McCree, he wouldn’t have to pay for anything. The owner of the bar, having recognized Jack, told them that everything was on the house tonight in exchange for an autograph and a picture. The benefits of being a decorated war hero he supposes.

“I just don’t get it,” Jack says, words barely slurring. “I don’t. I mean, Gabe isn’t usually like this. Yeah, we fight sometimes, but for him to tell me to leave,” he buries his cheek in the crook of his right arm. “It’s all m’fault.” He lifts his other arm to signal to the bartender, but McCree stops him by grabbing it.

“Whoa there,” he says, and Jack hums at him questioningly. “I think you’ve had enough.”

A pout makes its way to Jack’s mouth, and coupled with the red on his cheeks, the sight makes McCree gulp. Jack scrunches his eyebrows together, looking like he was going to argue with McCree, before sighing. “I guess you’re right.”

McCree relaxes at that, relieved that he wouldn’t have to force him. “C’mon, up and at ‘em,” he stands up, and Jack follows shortly afterward, almost collapsing if it weren’t for McCree still gripping the blond’s arm. The gunslinger sighs and resigns himself to having to help Jack all the way back to base and slings the other’s arm around his neck.

He tips his hat to the bartender, who nods back, before exiting the bar, Jack mumbling incoherently next to him. He mutters something that sounds like McCree’s name, and McCree arches an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

“I said,” Jack slurs a bit louder, and McCree thinks that the alcohol must be really getting to him now, “you don’t have t’carry me, Jesse. I can walk just fine.”

McCree chuckles softly as they made their way through an alleyway, a shortcut he found around the third time he visited the bar. “Darlin’, I don’t think you’re sober enough to stand, much less walk.” Jack slumps, slowing them both down. “Hey now,” McCree says, concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Gabe… me that,” was Jack’s mumbled reply.

“Um, didn’t quite catch that?”

“Gabe used to call me that,” he repeats, voice clearer. McCree feels his heart clench. “He used to call me,” a hiccup breaks his sentence, but Jack continues unperturbed, “call me all sorts of things. Darling, golden boy— mostly in Spanish though. Like, _mi corazon_ , que—” his eyebrows furrow, as if he was trying to remember. “ _Querido?_ Que-ri-do,” he repeats slowly, the last syllable sounding more like the word ‘doe’.

 _Well_ , McCree thinks as his heart begins to ache, _at least now he knows how close Jack and Reyes are_.

“He used t’call me those things, ’specially when he thinks I’m asleep,” Jack slurs. “Never in public though, like, like he was ashamed of it. Of us.” His head bows down, but McCree catches sight of his watery blue eyes, as if he was going to start crying. “But now, he doesn’t even call me that when we’re alone, and I just want to know what I did wrong but—” Another hiccup breaks him off.

There’s silence, and McCree thinks for a moment that maybe he passed out. He shakes him gently, making Jack look up at him, and his heart stops at the sight of silent tears running down Jack’s cheeks. Suddenly, Jack pushes him against the wall behind him, and McCree’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Jack, what are you—”

There’s an odd look in the blond’s eyes that makes McCree go stock-still. Jack licks his lips, and McCree can’t help but watch as he does.

“You told me you’d have my back, no matter what,” Jack says, still staring, and McCree nods dumbly. “Then kiss me.”

That shocks McCree into speaking. “What?!”

“Make me feel good, Jesse,” he murmurs, and the sound of his name makes McCree shiver. “You’ve got my back, right? Please, I need it.”

“Jack, you and Reyes—”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Jesse,” he cuts him off, and a calloused hand finds its way on McCree’s chest, making him swallow nervously. “And Gabe,” the hand clenches into a fist. “He doesn’t care, not anymore. Jesse, I need to forget about him. Help me forget about him. Please,” Jack leans forward, pressing his lips firmly against McCree’s.

McCree can’t stop the groan that forms in his throat, and a hand comes up to cup the back of Jack’s head, bring him closer, making the blond hum appreciatively.

God, it feels so good, but then McCree slips his tongue through Jack’s lips, and the taste of alcohol makes him remember that Jack was _drunk_ and this was _wrong_ and oh god, _Reyes_. He abruptly pulls away, avoiding Jack’s gaze.

“Jesse?” he asks dazedly, and McCree wants to look at him but he doesn’t.

“I—,”He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “This is wrong. You’re drunk, Jack.”

“I know what I want, Jesse,” came Jack’s murmured reply, and he leans in again only for McCree to push him away. He looks up, finally meeting Jack’s startled blue eyes.

“You don’t want me, Jack,” he says with a pained expression on his face because it’s the truth, no matter how much it hurts. “You want Reyes, Jack. Not me.”

Jack’s breath catches and his eyes widen at the mention of his lover’s name, his mind finally realizing what he had done. He backs away from McCree, as if he’d just been burned. “I— oh god, Jesse, I—” he says, his voice guilt stricken, much more sober than he was just a few minutes ago. “I didn’t mean to— I’m so sorry!”

McCree forces a smile. “I know, Jack. It’s not your fault,” he says, because it really isn’t. He was the one who fell for him in the first place.

They walk back out of the alley in awkward silence, and Jack keeps glancing at McCree as if he wants to say something, anything, but he stops himself from doing so. McCree makes him take a cab back to the base. Jack throws him a look when he doesn’t enter the cab as well, and McCree tells him he wants to walk back instead, clear his head. Jack accepts his explanation hesitantly, but he accepts it nonetheless.

He stands there under the light of a streetlamp, watching as cab drove away. Only when it goes out of sight does McCree let out a bitter laugh. God, he could still taste Jack on his lips. He doesn’t think he could ever forget the taste, the feel of that kiss.

 _Why did you do that? That was your chance, your_ only _chance to finally be with Jack_ , a small voice inside his head says.

He smiles sardonically, closing his eyes.

Why? It’s simple really. Jack was drunk, he wasn’t thinking right. That kiss was just an accident on his part, and Jack still has Reyes.

But most of all, he’s Jack’s good friend, nothing more.

\--

The next day, Jack visits him to apologize. He looks so guilty for what happened that McCree almost laughs. He doesn’t, but he does wave him off, saying that it was fine. Jack was drunk. People did stupid things when they were drunk. There’s nothing to apologize for. Everything’s fine. McCree wonders who he’s trying to convince more— Jack or himself.

The next week, McCree loses his arm during a mission. “ _Idiota_. That’s what you get for being distracted,” Reyes growls at him, arms crossed as Angela assesses the damage, and McCree just stares at the stump that used to be his left arm. When Jack checks on him later that day, Reyes gives them a suspicious look, and McCree wonders if he somehow knows about the kiss. He finds out from Tracer the day after about how they had a big fight that night, how their screaming match could be heard across the hall, and McCree knows none of it’s his fault, but he feels guilty nonetheless.

The next month, everything starts going to hell. Blackwatch is somehow revealed to the public, and Overwatch starts being accused of human rights abuse, weapons proliferation, criminal activities. When the people start calling for Jack’s head, and the UN starts doing the same for Reyes’s, McCree is forced to make a decision. Jack or Reyes. His answer should’ve been obvious. Months ago, he told Jack, he’d always have his back. But a year before that, he promised his loyalty to Reyes. Jack or Reyes.

In the end, he decides to do what he does best. He runs.

\--

Three months later, the Swiss HQ is destroyed in an explosion. There are only twelve casualties. Jack Morrison is one of them. So is Gabriel Reyes. 

 _Love sucks_ , he thinks to himself as memories of Jack, of his smile, of his blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin dance in his head. McCree wants to laugh. Or cry. Whichever. It doesn’t really matter because in the end, he does both.

**Author's Note:**

> Presenting, the reason why I haven't been able to update my other stories. And I totally ship Mc76. This is an attempt to drag you into rare pair hell with me.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism would be really appreciated :)
> 
> Also, if you spot any grammatical errors, tell me and I'll try to edit them out asap.


End file.
